


Zessai

by HamHamHeaven



Series: Tanbinaru Shi no Shoukei [4]
Category: Dir en grey, Jrock, Sadie (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Die (Dir en grey) Has Horns, M/M, Malevolent Kyo (Dir en grey), Multiple Personalities, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, POV First Person, POV Kaoru (Dir en grey), Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamHamHeaven/pseuds/HamHamHeaven
Summary: Kaoru was content to sit back and await the inevitable, until the tantalizing sweetness of a glowing scarlet aura and a simple act of kindess change his plans.





	Zessai

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW VKYaoi community September 2018 challenge (by the skin of my teeth, I might add) - spotlighting a rhythm guitarist/occupier of Stage Right/House Left, and incorporating rhythm into the plot somehow. (You will now perceive why the Hamu no longer writes poetry. OTL)
> 
> Huge thank you to Memé for all the help brain-storming how the heck I was gonna get Die to cooperate! <3  
> 

I shall never forget the moment I first laid eyes on our crimson darling.  It was just after dusk on a brisk mid-autumn day.  Afternoons that time of year were still warm enough, but as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, the air took on a sharp bite.  The sort of nights that hinted at a cruel winter to come, driving the inhabitants of the settlement into their homes quickly, collars upturned and hats pulled low against the winds.  Personally, I was indifferent to the weather.  Rain and snow bring their own irritations when traveling, of course, but heat or cold I never seem to feel. 

We had been tracking the army for months, always a substantial enough distance behind so as to avoid suspicion.  That particular day, however, I’d been forced to bypass the detachment and circle ahead when they set up an encampment near a low line of foothills.  With so many pairs of watchful sentry eyes, the scrubby grass and few twisted shrubs provided little in the way of natural concealment.  So I kept to the culverts and hollows as much as I could, hastening over the summit toward what I had no doubt was their next target.

The small town seemed quiet and unremarkable – the sort of place one was born and lived and died all without ever troubling to venture into the world at large or thinking to dream any dream more substantial than becoming just like one’s parents. A place that kept to itself, never harming anyone or becoming entangled in external strife, and expected everyone else to do the same.

I found a comfortable spot to sit, on a pile of drying leaves in the shade of a maple tree, and watched these unassuming people live the last day of their lives, a kind of apologetic indifference hanging over me.  I could have alerted them.  In the past, we have done.  Found a receptive mind to whisper dire warnings to, sending the entire place into chaos, scattering them to the four winds in a futile attempt at escape. 

No one _ever_ escapes.  Once a village or business or person has been marked for elimination, no power under this sun could rescind the order.  Those who flee are pursued pitilessly, relentlessly, until a mistake is made or hope is utterly spent.  We _have_ tried, and succeeded only in filling the final moments of good people with terror.

With such doleful musings I rested and awaited the inevitable, hidden in the gathering dusk, apathetic gaze drifting over a nearby cluster of tired houses with their sagging roofs and flaking paint and ‘quite the fashion ten seasons ago’ curtains hanging just beyond finger-smudged windows.  That’s when he appeared.

The door of the rickety house directly below where I reclined suddenly swung open with a bang, and out stepped… perfection…, a basket of laundry under his arm.  Tall and slender, _almost_ malnourished, with an open, cheerful face, dark twinkling eyes, a merry whistle on his puckered lips.  Yet for all his aesthetic allure, it was his glowing scarlet aura that held me spellbound: a tantalizing blend of savoury and sweet, bold and passionate with a touch of recklessness perhaps, but obviously very goodhearted. 

The thirst was instantaneous.  So was the self-loathing. Despite the unanimity of the others that he be claimed as _ours_ without delay, I despised the idea of condemning an innocent to eternity with someone like me.  No, I would not touch him; I would content myself merely with looking.

Of course in looking, I also discovered the reason the army had chosen this inoffensive little place as its target.  Even in the dim light from the windows, dark curling horns were clearly visible amid the cascade of russet curls that fell to his shoulders.  A mutant.  An undesirable.  A being whose very genetics signed his death warrant.  Moreover, as openly as he moved about, draping his damp clothing across the drying line, unhurried and fearless, I had no doubt but that the others in the settlement were like him.

I had become so absorbed in studying _him_ that I’d ceased to notice anything else, including that someone else had caused us to creep from the base of the maple, carrying me closer.  So close that he caught a glimpse of my movement in his peripheral vision and wheeled around with a startled:

“Who’s there?”

I cursed myself for letting my guard down so carelessly and quickly drew the shadows about me like a cloak, willing myself to fade.  He set the hamper aside and walked up the slope toward me, eyes searching the gloom for what he thought he’d seen.

“There’s no need to hide.  I won’t hurt you.”

A sweet, utterly pointless assurance, and it rather surprised me that he wasn’t more concerned about the possibility of _me_ hurting _him_.  I might have been a wild animal or a madman for all he knew.  Or some lethal combination of the two – a soldier.

He moved closer.  Too close.  I could taste the echoes of his sweat on the breeze.  I hissed like some feral feline, poised to run if he persisted in his recklessness. His shoulders slumped a bit in defeat, then suddenly he turned away and disappeared back into the dilapidated building.  Predatory instinct screamed at me to follow, even as other, more rational voices chided me that this rapidly-blossoming emotional attachment wasn’t safe for any of us.

Silence fell within me when he returned a few moments later, bowl in hand.

“It’s nothing fancy, but if you’re hungry anything will do, right?” he grinned.  “I’ll leave it here for you.”

I stared in astonishment as he placed the steaming offering on the stoop.

“Best eat up before the neighbourhood dogs smell it.”

He grabbed his empty basket and retreated into the house once more, but I remained where I was, not daring to move.  The dogs he had mentioned were indeed nearby, but too frightened of me to risk coming into the yard.  Several times, he peaked out through the window, disappointment apparent on his face each time he saw the bowl untouched.  I felt guilty for it.  Whatever he’d offered, it was likely food he could ill spare.  Food I was bound to waste, as I’d no use for it.

I waited and listened, even after the lights inside the house went out, straining my senses until all movement ceased and his soft, even breathing assured me that he’d fallen asleep.  Only then did I edge toward the bowl.  It contained a mixture of rice and beans with a few herbs – what others might call starvation rations.  And he had shared them with an invisible stranger. 

I didn’t understand why. 

_It would be a pity to squander such misguided generosity._

I eyed the door thoughtfully.  People in these quiet settlements rarely locked their doors.  Sometimes because they trusted to their neighbours’ integrity; more often because they realized they had nothing of any value to steal.  On impulse, I gave the knob an experimental twist.  It turned without effort, so I tugged the door open just enough that I could slip through, easing it closed behind me without a sound.

The interior of the kitchen was just as shabby as the exterior of the house: a much dented stove and small refrigeration unit, an old wooden table and single chair, and a cracked sink complete with leaky faucet.  I scanned the room, pondering whether the food would keep if it set out overnight and if I dared risk opening the refrigerator to put the food inside.

_Will he even live long enough to eat it?_

The idea sickened me, and although I could hear that he was alive and well, I found myself tiptoeing through the doorway, bowl forgotten on the table.

The majority of his living evidently took place on the ground floor; though there was a second storey, the only means of access seemed to be a rickety ladder propped against the wall beside the mouldering remains of a collapsed staircase.  The main room of the house in which I stood had a few more pieces of rustic furniture: a chest of drawers, a set of waist-high shelves, a small writing table cluttered with papers. One narrow door stood open to the left, and the strange pinging of metal pipes echoing through it indicated a washroom lay beyond.

My unsuspecting host had no proper bed.  Instead, he slept sprawled on an old mattress that had been shoved into a corner and piled with bedding, hair and limbs askew, apparently naked beneath his covers despite the chilly weather.  I loosened my hold on the gloom surrounding us and scrutinized him: memorized every curve and dip of his frame, learned the rhythm of his breath and heart, absorbing as much of his essence as I safely could from the ambiance.

_He could be ours tomorrow.  All we need to do is wait for the inevitable._

_That’s a calloused thought after the kindness he showed!_

Shame drove my thoughts back over the rise of the hills until in my mind’s eye I could see the innumerable ranks of the army silently and efficiently preparing to annihilate the unsuspecting village with dawn’s first light.  Already I could sense the vibrations of tramping feet and heavy machinery stirring the ground.  Was I content to linger in my fantasies of what could never be then slink off like a coward, leaving him to his death?

He didn’t deserve to die.

None of them did, really, but I accepted my own limitations.  I couldn’t save them all.  Yet he….  I couldn’t stand by idly watching as they snuffed out such a mesmerizing life.  I should wake him and warn him.  Although, would he go?  Or would this senselessly generous man, who gave to a stranger he’d not even properly seen the food he himself needed to prevent starvation, try to save everyone around him and in so doing condemn himself?

That was how it would likely play out.

I reached out toward the slumbering man’s aura, just an ephemeral brush across his subconscious to see how much resistance I might be up against.  To my surprise, it yielded immediately, welcoming me as if I’d been expected.  Longed for, even. 

Was he this pliant for anyone?  Or was there something unique about me that he’d responded to?

Now wasn’t _that_ a dangerous line of thought.  No one responded to my touch with anything other than loathing.

_We’re wasting time.   Stop mooning, and get on with it._

“Can you hear me?” I whispered.

He made no reply, but turned his head toward me.

“Raise your right hand if you do.”

His right hand lifted few centimetres off the blanket.

“What is your name?”

“Die.”

Die he called himself – an ironic name given our circumstances.

“You will stay asleep as I speak to you, Die.  Do you understand?”

“I understand,” he replied, words flat and slightly slurred.

“Get up, dress yourself, and gather anything you will need for a week’s journey on foot.  No more than what two people can carry.”

It took him less than five minutes to do as I’d instructed.  Apparently he’d been preparing for a quick getaway, for he had a pair of mostly-filled knapsacks hidden in the bottom of the chest.

“Ready,” he slurred.

I shook my head.

“You will need a hat, scarf, gloves, coat, and boots, dear one.  Preferably something insulated against wind and rain if you’ve the option.”

He kept such articles on a small bench beside the door I had entered.

“What’s the nearest town?” I asked as he sat fastening his boots on the back stoop.

“Diirin.”

Three days’ journey back the way I’d come, directly in the path of the army.  No good.

“Next closest?”

“Lashaiidis.”

I frowned.  Would the mountain pass to Lashaiidis still be open?  Well, we had to try _something_ , and there were places enough in the mountains that I could conceal us if it came to that.

“Follow me,” I ordered, “As quietly and swiftly as you can.  And remain asleep!”

“Understood.”

We kept as far from the sickly halo of streetlights as possible, fleeing west and north out of town through the manufacturing district.  Following the highway was out of the question.  I took us on the straightest course I could manage, directly up and over the hills.  Though it left our retreating forms more visible to whatever surveillance there might have been than skirting around the hills would have, gaining as much distance as we could took priority.  We would focus on stealth when we had more than two hours between us and our foe.

The further we travelled from the settlement, the more apparent it became that I’d need to relinquish control if we were to reach the pass uninjured.  Negotiating unfamiliar terrain in the dead of night is not my area of expertise.  There was quite a bit of internal debate as to whether my stepping back might cause my companion’s sleep to falter, but nearly tripping head-first into a stream soon proved we had to risk it.  I paused, just long enough to sink down below the surface, and then we continued on.

 

The attack was launched at daybreak, just as I had anticipated.  The piercing shriek of falling shells and the thunderous booms as they laid waste to what had once been my companion’s home wakened him.  Die was thoroughly bewildered as to where he was or how he’d gotten there, and it took several minutes before he began to believe that what his eyes and ears and nose were telling him were real, not some feverish nightmare.  Once the truth struck, he cast his pack aside with a strangled cry and began running back toward the ominous billows of smoke.

“Halt!” a voice which was not mine commanded with my lips.

He froze, fighting impotently against the thrall, his beautiful aura a muddled swirl of umber confusion and white fury.

“Let me go.  I have to…,” he shouted angrily.  “Let. Me. Go!”

He was too riled to listen if I’d tried to explain the horror that awaited him should he try to go back; I simply held my tongue and waited until I felt him sag against the psychic restraints in defeat.

“What am I to do now?” he asked miserably.

A valid question. What _was_ he to do now?  I hadn’t thought that far ahead.  His life had been temporarily spared, but unless I planned to keep Die at my side indefinitely, what good would his life do him?  I briefly caressed his subconscious again, offering what paltry comfort I could, then whispered to his mind the only solution I had:

“Now… you go on.”

As his mobility returned, he turned this way and that, searching for me, though I was well camouflaged.

“Go… on,” he repeated dubiously.  “I suppose… it _is_ the only option.  But… won’t you show yourself, friend?  I told you last night I wouldn’t harm you.  It _was_ you I spoke to last night, wasn’t it?”

He stepped closer to where he correctly guessed I was, sparking desire within me anew.  But I would most assuredly _not_ be showing myself to him.  Instead, I showed him a mental image of the direction to take. 

 _Hurry_ , I insisted.

Obediently, he tugged his discarded bag over his shoulders and resumed our course.

 

The next nine days were arduous.  From dawn to dusk we trekked, pushing ourselves to the brink of collapse, stopping only when darkness made it too hazardous for Die to go on.  I kept several paces ahead of him, only half-faded lest he lose his way.  We were used to being the pursuer, not the pursued, and although I appreciated that I had nothing to fear from Die at my back, the eye etched onto the nape of my neck still tingled with the visceral instinct to turn and _fight_.

I wasn’t the only one feeling uneasy.  Though remaining undetected was crucial, complete silence seemed to weigh upon Die.  Often, he spoke to me in low murmurs, asking about where we were bound or what I knew of the forces we were trying to evade.  I never answered.  Allowing him to hear but only partially see me took a degree of concentration I couldn’t muster while simultaneously guiding our track and scanning for potential threats. The result was a steady stream of one-sided conversation with himself.  He could have been bound to silence, of course, but that felt like a violation of his autonomy which I wouldn’t allow again unless drastic measures were required.  Besides, his voice had a hypnotic quality that soothed our more aggressive predispositions.

The higher into the mountains we went, the colder it became.  Most of our late night campsites were too exposed to risk a fire, but twice we found rocky crevices deep enough that they were invisible to all save the birds. On those nights, the air was perfumed with dried pine as the dead branches crackled merrily.  Warmth and heated food seemed to cheer Die immensely.

Such an innocent.  He never thought of taking turns standing guard, just sprawled out or curled up, whichever was his mood, and fell into repose.  I didn’t begrudge him, poor darling.  I let our minds wander as my body relaxed, one always close enough to the surface that I could hear if nightmares came to plague his dreams and murmur whatever words were needed to keep them at bay.

“I noticed the markings on your skin this morning, friend,” he remarked on the eighth evening as he was settling down to sleep. 

I still hadn’t dared reveal myself to him, convinced that he’d think me every bit as odious as the villains we were evading.  Yet apparently I’d grown slack in my disguise.  Probably in that hazy blur as sleep was claiming him; it’s harder to obscure our nature from the subconscious.  It didn’t help matters that I didn’t particularly _want_ to hide from him any longer.  I _wanted_ to trust him.

Nor had I spoken to him beyond whispered subliminal guidance.  Having no other name by which to call me, he addressed me as ‘friend’.  The moniker filled me with infinite joy and immeasurable yearning.  I’d never had a friend before.  Though my adoration of him tended toward something other than friendship, I felt the luckiest being on the planet to have him think of me that way.  And the biggest fraud.

“Were you convinced of some crime?” continued Die, unaware of my mental ramblings.

I ran my index finger absently over the intricate spider’s web pattern encircling around my left wrist.  The Authorities often forcibly marked or scarred convicted felons to permanently stigmatize them; it wasn’t surprising that Die had misinterpreted the patterns on my flesh.

“No need to feel ashamed if you were,” he added after a moment’s contemplation.  “We both know that conviction and guilt have nothing to do with one another these days.  I mean… what crimes did my neighbours or I ever commit?”

None whatsoever, save the crime of being born.  I shook my head and willed the night to engulf us.

“Sleep, Die.”

Once again, I’d left all of his important questions unanswered, but he still fell asleep with a smile on his lips, obviously pleased to hear my voice.

 

The following morning dawned cold and misty, devoid of the usual bird and insect songs.  Eerie shapes seemed to loom up out of the murkiness, and there was a faint putrescence on the air that filled the atmosphere with foreboding.  Quickly as I could, I gathered the few things we’d taken out of our packs and shook Die’s shoulder to rouse him.

“Is that you, friend?” Die groaned softly, his voice enticingly rough with sleep.

“We need to go,” I hissed.

He sat up reluctantly, smacking his lips and ruffling his hair with his fingers to loosen the tangles.

“Any chance of breakfast?”

I was reaching into the second knapsack for something he could eat while we walked when I heard it, faint but unmistakeably anomalous – the rustle of evergreen needles against synthetic uniform fabric.  There was no time to wonder how they’d managed to find us.  I grabbed him by the shoulders, dragging him upright and shoving him toward the summit.

“Run!”

Bless and curse his tender heart, he hesitated.

“B-but you…?”

“Run, Dearest!” I growled, too preoccupied to notice my over-familiarity.

Leaving my pack on the ground, I retreated back the way we’d come several metres, making sure to snap a few twigs underfoot as I went.  I stopped at the base of a twisted old cedar tree and waited.  The low-hanging clouds made visibility poor, so I closed my eyes and pulled back, not relinquishing control entirely but making room for the others.

When they opened again, we were seeing the world through the eyes of a cold-blooded predator.  Rocks and vegetation dwindled into the background, while a cluster of glowing orange beings stood in stark relief.  A group of soldiers lying in wait behind the pale blue stump of some ancient tree.

_Sssscum._

_Do you really think we can take on an entire legion?_

_That’s no legion.  I only count two dozen.  Surely we can handle a small scouting party._

It was at that moment that Die’s pain-filled scream rent the air, and I recognized, too late, that we had sent him straight into a trap: that the rabble before me was only there to serve as a distraction and keep us from escaping.  Ruthlessly, I was shoved aside, control torn from my grasp, as an indescribable blood-lust swelled within our chest. 

_How dare those soulless drones try to seize what is ours!  We will make them pay._

The misty white clouds around us turned sable black… or perhaps it was only my vision.  Lightning crackled from our fingertips, sending sparks of electricity zinging through the air.  Dreadful words sprang to our tongue, spat into the wind in a string of venomous curses.

 

 _Awaken, Terror_  
_Freeze the breath within their lungs_  
_Blood congealed inside each vein_

 _Madness, take hold_  
_Time itself will resonate_  
_With their anguished cries of pain_

 _Come forth, O Death,_  
_Flay their spirits from their frames_  
_Flesh to ash and bone to dust_

 _Desecration, reign_  
_Burn their souls in endless flames_  
_While their corpses putrefy_

 

The atmosphere pulsed with the sinister cadence, and the very foundation of the mountain seemed reverberate with the deafening clap of thunder that followed.  With a high wail and a collective shudder, the soldiers collapsed. Every last one of them disintegrated by the powerful spell.

“K-kyo, what the hells!” I gasped, clutching my chest.  “We just slaughtered _thousands_ of living beings.”

He didn’t respond, but his malevolence still roiled within us.

 _Barely living,_ sniffed Mao contemptuously.  _I’ve felt more sated after a bucket of roasted clams._

He had a point.  Their combined life force wasn’t even enough to have us feeling sated.  Not like Die’s, so vibrant and effervescent.

_Die!_

I rushed up the steep slope as fast as our legs would carry me.  Just over the ridge, I caught sight of him: a single pool of vibrant red amid the dusty brown and mottled grey.  He lay gasping, coughing, hands clenched over his stomach amid the dead.  The ground beneath him was drenched in blood.

I knelt at his side, not needing to see his injury to assess the damage.  Fatal.  The wound was fatal, his generous heart steadily pumping away the very last of his existence.  Oh how bitter failure tasted on my palette!

His eyes fluttered open, and a smile crept onto his sweet lips.

“My guiding angel,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’ve stopped hiding from me.”

In those last moments, I couldn’t have hidden from him if I’d tried.

“I’m no angel, Die.  Surely you can see that.”

His brows furrowed in concentration.

“You’re… shinigami?”

“A collector,” I corrected.  “But I swear to you on my souls, Die, we never intended to take you.”

“Y-you _will_ though, w-won’t you?  P-please.  I d-don’t…,” blood trickled from the side of his mouth as he wheezed, “Want to… g-go… a-alone….”

I’ve lost count of the number deaths I’ve witnessed in my life; his was by far the most difficult to bear.

“We’ll do anything you want us to, Die,” I promised.

His eyes were beginning to cloud over. 

“Wh-what’s-s-s… your n-name, …friend?”

I cupped his cheek in my hand, stroking over the rapidly cooling skin with my thumb.

“Kaoru.”

“Take me… with you…, Kaoru.”

I leaned down and gave him our first, his last, kiss.  I could tell that the others wanted to feel it too, but I locked it up within myself and refused to share.  Die’s lips were mine and mine alone, soft and pliant.

Once I’d kissed him farewell, I held my palms over his chest, drawing that bewitching aura from him with only a slight twinge of regret.  We hadn’t intended it, but there was no hiding how we’d wanted him.  Die was everything we’d anticipated he’d be, and he came to us so willingly.  It was like sinking into a steaming bath after a day stuck in the snow.

“Oh, Die,” I sighed contentedly as he settled in beside me.

The others hummed in agreement.  Even Kyo’s belligerence abated under Die’s warming radiance.

 _Where’s his mark?_ Mao prompted.

“M-mark?”

Die’s confusion doubled as he heard his thoughts expressed aloud through my lips.  It made me chuckle.  I held out our right hand, exposing the pattern of red and black habu scales that had materialized there for all of us to see.

 _The marks you took for the brands of a criminal, Dearest_ , I explained. _Each one of you is marked into my flesh._

“Each.  H-how many…?”

_We’ll do proper introductions and explanations once you’ve been laid to rest._

I hadn’t brought the proper tools to dig a grave in the mountain’s thin dirt, and I refused to despoil the ground upon which he would lie with anything belonging to the army.  So we gathered rocks and built a cairn.

I shall never forget the last moment I laid eyes on him.  Those beautiful features, serene in death, slowly disappearing beneath the cold granite.  With every stone, I could feel his uneasiness growing.

 “You don’t have to watch, Beloved,” I murmured, purposefully shutting my eyes tight for a few moments.

 _It’s just so… unsettling_ , he replied, _Watching myself be buried._

I placed the last of the rocks at his feet with a solemn bow, then turned my attention to him, wrapping my consciousness around his until we’d nearly merged.

“That isn’t you,” I assured.  “This is you.  You belong to me now.  To us.  Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **1)** Fic takes its title from the beautiful [song](https://youtu.be/9tMGZjf7Ka0) Kyo did with Sugizo. 絶彩 can also be read as "zetsuaya", and CD Japan translates this as "Vibrant Despair".  
>  **2)** Die's style is basically taken from his [Decays](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CyIfBDOWEAEBCm-.jpg) look, but with the old-school visual kei [red colour](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRC_Se3PT-no-8WI98EBQTtnDAuWBqVHUZeY04cX0dwcVdohzqutQ). Kaoru doesn't describe his own appearance because... why would he? So you can imagine whichever you think suits him best.  
>  **3)** [Die's](https://78.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lqagfj5KA41qbm7pyo1_500.jpg) and [Kyo's](https://78.media.tumblr.com/d9881c911355de0f2f8b2f9e11519cc4/tumblr_nh0ig7sIQa1sudsjao6_500.jpg) marks are actually their own tattoos. Though the spiderweb actually belongs to [Kaoru](https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/batsu/imageproxy.php?url=http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss280/viktoriukas/523.jpg), I've decided to let that represent Mao, because Mao-kun's butterfly didn't fit the aesthetic I wanted for him.  
>  **4)** Because I'm a nerd who likes random 'Easter egg' type details, the two cities mentioned are spoofs on band names. Diirin = Dir en; Lashaiidis = La:Sadie's.  
>  **5)** Sorry if the switching back and forth between singular and plural pronouns is confusing. It's a very weird sort of dynamic Kaoru has going on with the others: sometimes collective, sometimes individual.


End file.
